The October List

operations room.
    ‘Ah, it’s Rookie Three-name,’ Kepler said, eyeing the name badge.
    ‘Fred Stanford Chapman reporting for duty,’ the young blond officer said; his tone evidenced a bit of attitude, Kepler thought.
    ‘And, if you’re interested, for the record, I swear all the fucking time,’ said the kid, who’d apparently overheard the conversation. ‘Anyway, swearing isn’t swearing anymore. It’s different.’
    Attitude …
    Kepler gave him a that’s-not-funny-so-watch-yourself look. Blondie shut up and decided not to offer what he’d been about to, whatever it was.
    ‘All right, Fred Stanford Chapman—’
    The rookie said, ‘Why don’t you call me Stosh? It’s—’
    ‘Naw, you’re definitely a Fred Stanford Chapman,’ Kepler said, like he was bestowing an honorary title.
    ‘Definitely,’ Surani echoed.
    ‘Now. Listen up.’ Kepler briefed the Patrol officer on the Charles Prescott Op and, even though he remained a little smart-ass around the eyes, the kid seemed to get it. And even made a few good suggestions.
    Then Kepler said, ‘Let’s get some breakfast. Something big.’
    ‘And expensive,’ Surani added.
    Kepler let drop, ‘We’ll charge it to Patrol. Our Viking warrior here’ll sign for it.’
    The kid was silent for a moment. He’d be thinking that even on stake-out operations he had to buy his own food. ‘Me?’
    ‘This case is so fucked up – excuse me, Gandhi,’ Kepler said, with a look at Surani, who gave him the finger yet again, ‘that we need some Bloody Marys too. Or, hell, Champagne.’
    ‘Champagne?’ The rookie was dying.
    Kepler gave it a whole ten seconds. Then said, ‘We’re fucking with you, Fred Stanford Chapman.’
    ‘Yeah.’ And he tried to look as if he’d known that all along.
    ‘We got time for coffee, that’s it. We go to … What’s the address again?’
    ‘Madison and Eighty-Eight.’ He added, to the new member of the team: ‘That’s where Prescott’s concubine’s supposed to be.’
    The young officer said, ‘A concubine is a woman who exists in a marriage-like relationship but’s unable to marry her lover, usually because of a difference in social class. You wouldn’t really have concubines in America. Fewer class issues, you know.’
    Both the detectives stared at him.
    The kid blushed. ‘I’m just saying.’
    ‘Jesus Christ,’ Kepler muttered. ‘Now you’re definitely buying.’
    Surani, the more-or-less voice of reason, said, ‘Let’s get a move on.’
    The detectives waited, continuing to stare at the patrolman.
    ‘What?’ The kid’s voice nearly broke.
    Surani frowned. ‘You weren’t listening?’
    ‘How’s that?’
    ‘The briefing. Just now.’
    ‘I was, yeah.’ But he looked uncertain, as if he maybe hadn’t been listening as much as he ought to’ve been.
    ‘Forget about that?’ Kepler pointed to a bulletproof vest, sitting on a table near the door.
    ‘I’ll pass,’ the young officer said. ‘Sweat like a pig in one of those. Besides, what could go wrong?’

CHAPTER
22
     

9:30 a.m., Sunday
15 minutes earlier
     

 

 
     
    They sat together on the edge of the unmade bed, sheets warm and twisted, concentric, like hurricane clouds seen from space.
    Their legs touched.
    ‘We should check out soon,’ Daniel Reardon said. He was looking down at Lexington Avenue as if Joseph or a crew of other killers searching desperately for the October List were stationed outside. His bag was packed.
    ‘All right,’ Gabriela said absently. She rose and began gathering up her things, stuffing them back into the gym bag. Dark blue with a red Nike logo on the side. Did Nike still use that logo? she wondered. And the tag line:
    Just do it …
    She’d brought very little with her, apart from the files, and she was soon finished. She was aware of Daniel looking her over. Blue jeans and a V-neck green sweater over a cream-colored silk camisole. A light gray L.L. Bean windbreaker. Daniel was in a new outfit as well – a suit, like yesterday. Dark gray. Italian. It was perfectly pressed. He wore no tie, a concession of some sort to the weekend. The scent rising from the cloth was astringent – dry-cleaning chemicals – but she sensed a subtext of aftershave, lotion and musk. Shoe polish too. He was fastidious about his shoes. The combination was, for some reason, extremely arousing.
    Yes, they should check out, Gabriela reflected. But she didn’t want to. She wanted to stay here. Close to him.
    Very